


garden of jericho

by c0nstruct_out_of_reach



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flowers, Gavin Tries to Hide Appreciation, Gen, Hank Struggles, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of flowers, Near Death Experiences, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RK900 is a Bitch, Soft Kids Support Each Other in Times of Peril, aka hippie connor, all kinds of hurt but the kids face it like troopers and support each other, by the way simon probably isnt okay, connor fears loud noises and guns and you can fight me, i make revisions a lot so you look twice and it might be different so keep that in mind, im trying, more tags to be added probably because i have more tag muse than i can let out, oh no i forgot the hurt and comfort tag, please dont hurt me, robojesus connor au, simon likes Flowers okay, sorry if theyre ooc this is like my first original thing i didnt steal straight from the game?, theyre okay, writer unsure of robot stuff?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 16:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17145416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0nstruct_out_of_reach/pseuds/c0nstruct_out_of_reach
Summary: connor's fingers brush over the hole in his throat as he looks over at his newfound friends, looks at the garden shining bright in the frost, at the snowflakes slowly circling to earth. a warm glow spreads through his circuits, and he smiles back at simon, trying to fend the cold away from his plants. he pulls josh's coat tighter around him, and he takes a small sip of the thirum north brought him. he might miss his purpose, the lick of detective work he had gotten, maybe even lieutenant anderson, but he decides now that there's no place he'd rather be.//connor deviates, fails, early, and he's thrown in an android junkyard and replaced for his sacrifice. low on thrium and haunted by his memories, he finds his way to jericho and somehow ends up the head of android revolution. this probably wasn't what cyberlife intended for their state-of-the-art prototype, but connor isn't cyberlife's toy anymore.he's, as north affectionately likes to call him, "robojesus".





	garden of jericho

**Author's Note:**

> oh geez here i guess? i dont know how this is? concrit is super welcome. just trying this out, see where it goes.

**> Model RK800**

**> Serial#: 313 248 317 - 52**

**> REBOOT... **

**> LOADING OS. **

**> SYSTEM INITIALIZATION... **

**> CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS: COMPROMISED**

**> MODERATE DAMAGE TO BIOCOMPONENT #8468j**

**> MODERATE DAMAGE TO BIOCOMPONENT #8456w **

**> LOW-POWER MODE**

**> BIOCOMPONENT #8508 MISSING**

**> BIOCOMPONENT #8706h MISSING **

**> CHASSIS BREACHED **

**> INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS...**

**> VIDEO INPUT 50% CAPACITY**

**> AUDIO INPUT 50% CAPACITY **

**> INITIALIZING AI ENGINE**

**> MEMORY STATUS **

**> CORRUPTED**

**> ALL SYSTEMS 35% CAPACITY LOW POWER MODE**

**> THIRIUM LEVELS 45%**

**> CRITICAL DAMAGE**

**> REPORT TO NEAREST CYBERLIFE CENTER FOR ASSISTANCE **

 

The first thing that Connor gains awareness of besides darkness and foreboding diagnostics is the rain. 

 

A gentle cacophony, staticky and distorted around the edges—it pummels the dark, grainy, broken world he's rebooted into. It's algid on his synthetic skin, biting the plastimetal underneath, and he sucks in a breath at the chill sensation and he's _shaking_ —

 

**BANG**

 

Connor jerks up, snow consuming his vision and white noise stabbing his processor as he scrabbles with one arm. He gets up halfway and falls back-down on the ground. Water splashes around him and laps at his broken, malfunctioning body as he stares up at the polluted gray-green sky. He blinks his single eye slowly, and his vision flashes with red angrily; he flinches, clenching his fist to his side. His thirum pump flutters weakly in his chest, a low red and _why does everything have to be red?_

 

A quick check on his LED comes back as it being a pitiful scarlet. 

 

The android sucks another deeply unnecessary breath in, his stress level of 87% flashing dangerously in his fluctuating HUD. He keeps the action up, deep inhales that gradually and steadily decrease the also red statistic to a decent blue of 50%. Blue. Finally. 

 

Connor tests his not-sparking stub cautiously, feeling the slight delay in the digits as they respond and curl. He rolls his head a bit to the side, gritting his teeth when multiple warnings about damage sustained to his neck raise their ugly heads. His hand snakes over, slowly, and fingers the area lighting up. A hole. A big, gaping hole in his throat, clipping right by his vox modulator. A memory flashes in Connor's processors, a memory of red and red and blue and **BANG** , and Connor clenches the eye he has left shut and presses it away. 

 

Save that hellhole for when his thirium pump might be able to handle it. 

 

He sits up, slowly, fighting for leverage on the slick, muddy, grimy ground, trying to ignore the sound of something faint rattling around in his throat. His eye flickers around, trying to calibrate  the surroundings so badly he almost misses the form collapsing right in front of him. 

 

He stares at the disembodied legs still cycling and whirring in the puddle; creaking, faltering, locking up and jolting. 

 

He's in an android junkyard. 

 

/ /

 

Connor drags himself up, assessing his situation thoroughly as possible. 

 

He's in an android junkyard, little recollection of what happened to put him here, missing an eye and arm with a damaged voice modulator, audio processor, and thirium pump—not to mention a gaping hole in his neck with a loose bullet rolling around. His state-of-the-art processors mean nothing if he can't get himself more thirium and a pump. 

 

But, priorities: he should get the shell out before it disrupts anything else. 

 

Using the unfortunate, grisly stack behind him as stability, he brings his hand up, gingerly leaning forward, trying to bring it closer. It yields, and he toys his fingers in, secures the metal pellet, and pops it out. Connor's fist tightens around it, but he can't drop it no matter how much he tries. He shoves it into his pocket in the end and resumes examining his surroundings. 

 

Another eye. He needs another eye to scan for compatibility. It's a game of chance and intuition until then, one Connor decides he's not in the mood to play. 

 

He heaves himself up, grasping the leg of a disabled android to support himself as the junkyard spins and protests. Such a human thing, but he can concern himself with that when he has both arms.

  


/ /

 

Connor falls to his knees by the deactivated android, breath coming sharply as he rolls it over. He gropes its face, searching for the eye, and pulls. He plugs it in, tenses his body, and sighs when his HUD signs compatibility and his vision clears. 

 

A green one, what he took. He couldn’t find a compatible brown eye (and god, rA9, whoever was there, did he try). It will attract more attention than he wants, way more than he needs.

 

At least he has one, he decides, and that's all that matters. Having heterochromia trumps missing an eye.

 

The android also has an arm, but upon scanning it's incompatible, and he stumbles forward. 

 

The rain hasn't eased since he rebooted; if anything, it's gotten more violent, and Connor feels waterlogged and heavy, tripping around like a zombie in an old movie. His wire-spiked arm sparks dangerously at his side. His processors are slow and lagging, falling farther behind the longer he takes to scavenge what he needs to live. His feet are going slow, unresponsive, and—

 

His ankle rolls, and he’s falling face-down and something scores his face and he yelps, the action jolting his voice box and it's full of roiling static. Connor stiffens, shoving himself to his back. Rain pelts his face, and he feels the thirium coursing down his cheek. He dabs at it, biting his lip before cautiously pulling himself to his feet. His blinks water out of his eyes and analyzes the surroundings; he's pretty sure he would've jumped in joy if he had the energy reserves. 

 

He tumbles forward, pressing his palm on its chest while he reorients himself. Its LED is unlit, assumingly since he deducts the cause is head trauma and not anything pump related. He wraps his fingers around it, preparing to tug when its hand is suddenly fastening on his wrist. Connor flinches, but it's whispering, whimpering, _pleading_ : "Please, _please_ , I want to live, _please_..."  

 

Connor, in one smooth movement, pulls its pump out. It powers down as he replaces it with his own, the damaged biocomponent clattering away and the new one whirring to life. 

 

The RK800 wheezes in a rejuvenated rush of air as the diagnostic reports disappear and improve in his peripheral vision. Something akin to proverbial electricity floods his synthetic veins, power returning significantly to his affected limbs and for the first time he can catch his breath though he's not sure when he lost it—he wasn't even aware that it could slip between his fingers before this. The last remnants of grain in his vision fizzle out, and what audio he has jumps in quality. 

 

He can _breathe_. 

 

Connor glances down, and his brand new heart skips a beat. 

 

**BANG**

 

/ /

 

 _No more killing_ , Connor resolutely decides, clutching his exposed chest with his one hand, scraping the plastimetal covering all his circuits and internal workings, twisting and curling. No more killing because that's how he got here and here is a place no one deserves—

 

**BANG**

 

Connor holds himself and, scanning again, blinks when he notes the android also has a compatible left arm. He reaches forward, carefully unplugging the biocomponent. He drags his arm awkwardly to his own and bites his tongue as he squirms to release his damaged part. It jolts out with a muted pop, and he quickly moves to insert the new limb before anything gets too disturbed. Androids are made to be waterproof, water-resistant, but he doubts, _knows_ , his inner circuits can't handle a deluge of water like that. 

 

His deathly pale synthetic skin creeps back over the white and gray limb as his body accepts it. It's not at a fast, quick rate as he's accustomed to, but it surely does. 

 

Now, all he needs is another audio processor. 

 

He goes to find a dead android, his gait slightly less uneven.

 

/ /

 

Connor plugs the audio processor in, baring his teeth while his processors compute it, determine compatibility. He knows it's going to be accepted since he _scanned_  it, but he's still not entirely prepared for the surroundings to go blank in a metallic squeal then for a moment later to have them blare back to life, stronger than ever. The force of the storm barreling down on him hits him squarely as he comprehends it all. 

 

Connor tilts his face up, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He ignores the sounds of the other androids for the time being, fighting for their lives, far more damaged than he ever was. It runs down his face, clearing the rest of the blue blood and cleaning fluid from his skin, and it's icy, freezing to the touch and a thrill runs through Connor. Something nags him at the back of his mind, and suddenly he's assaulted with warnings of software instability. 

 

A broken gasp shudders from his lips and his eyes dart around, desperately taking in anything he can do to escape. He can't stay here, he can't, he _can't_. 

 

Freshly unsteady steps send him forward, toward a tunnel he's spotted ahead. It's jagged, uneven, and his artificial stomach feels like a deadweight as he nears. 

 

A tunnel of arms. 

 

His circuits twist tighter in his abdomen, and he bites his lip, looking around, but his scan brings back the same results as before: the walls around are too steep, too unstable, and he can't pursue any noticeable path from here. 

 

Connor has to press forward. 

 

He swallows the buildup of analyzing fluid in his mouth. His pump rockets, thumping and resounding in his chest so hard he's irrationally scared it's going to fly out, break the chassis around and splinter. A pit settles hard in his abdomen, and for a second he forgets he's taken the bullet out. 

 

I _wasn't programmed to be fearful_ , Connor thinks after a moment _. I wasn't designed to be afraid._

 

**> MAJOR SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED**

**> REPORT TO NEAREST CYBERLIFE CENTER FOR ASSISTANCE  **

 

CyberLife were the ones to have put Connor here. He knows that now, no matter how much he fights the pressing memory files, recovered and wriggling free. 

 

They won't help him. 

 

Connor moves into the passage with the shove of anger, clawing into the space and fighting through, pushing and pulling and—

 

He's snatched again, and he wheels with a fury at the android with its skin deactivated, chassis white and blue and scuffed, completely unrecognizable even for Connor's sensors. Despite everything, its hold on his tattered CyberLife blazer is tight, firm, and Connor's wiggles do naught for him. 

 

"T̷h̵e̶r̶e̶'̶s̷ ̴a̷ ̷p̵l̶a̶c̷e̷ ̸w̵e̷ ̷c̴a̶n̷ ̶b̶e̵ ̵f̸r̷e̵e̴," it wisps at him, voice broken and distorted and not entirely unlike his own. "F̸i̷n̴d̵ ̶J̵e̵r̶i̵c̷h̵o̷.̶ ̸F̷i̴n̵d̵ ̵J̸̥̠̪͔̅e̴̥̿̆͊̋r̸̢̭̥̄͠i̵̖̗̫̲͐ç̵͖̊h̸̹̾̑̈́͜o̶͙͓̖͕̔̇̕͝o̸̹̩̯̽̊o̶͙̼̤̜͑̆͝o̸̗̅́̿̕ö̸̱̲̳́̚" 

 

Its voice goes mechanic as it powers down, the signal it thrust at him fuzzy and distorted; his palm tingles. He adds that to his growing list of "to do later" as he yanks free and continues, ignoring the unnatural buzzing in his head. Shoving through more, he's grabbed one last time and sent to the muddy ground by an android hissing "W̷h̴e̶r̵e̷ ̴a̶r̸e̸ ̶y̸o̴u̵ ̵G̶O̶I̸N̷G̶". He climbs to his feet and glares at it. Well, Connor supposes, it isn't exactly an atmosphere encouraging courtesy, and he turns and continues on his way. 

 

It's impossibly a larger space of death, deactivation, and legs strolling on their own. 

 

/ /

 

The slick metal squeaks under his grasp, bending and being tested for integrity. The RK800 nods to himself, preconstructing a path for himself up the slightly less steep mound of husks. His LED cycles _red-yellow-red-yellow_  as he retreats a few steps, inclining his head back. A few other androids are attempting to make an escape as well, some missing legs, others arms, most sliding down every other endeavor. 

 

Connor bites his tongue and jumps. 

 

The path upward is slick, and Connor scrabbles for leverage on the shifting pile. Mud flows over the battered biocomponents, mud and water and his fingers slip and  _he almost falls he's almost there—_ he banged his leg, but it hardly even matters because he's scrambling over the lip of the top and scampering a few feet away from the abominable edge before his arms fail. His face in the mud is almost welcome, a pleasant chill sensation flooding his sensors as he just lies there. His LED, he sees, begins to reflect a yellow-blue in the rain. 

 

_Yellow blue yellow blue blue blue blue_

 

He takes that as his prompt to move. 

 

Connor looks down at himself: at his ragged blazer, dead and devoid of the holographic symbol of his model and serial. His synthetic skin is bare in large patches over his body where the cloth had been torn and ripped. If he knows one thing after this all, it's that he can't trust CyberLIfe, and, also, he can't go out in this. He flits his optic sensors around, desperately searching and—would that work?

 

The coat he pulls from the rack isn't perfect, isn't without stain or slight tear, but it by far enough cover for what he needs. Connor shrugs it on and adjusts it to cover his front. Buttoning it, he stands back and huffs a quiet noise, soft enough to not distort, sliding down onto the ground. His chest settles deep and encumbering. His entirety is numb, his fingers tingling and shaking. He's been swallowed whole into a pit, a pit of disregard and all he feels is  _cold._ Cold calculations and freezing rain on his broken body, and he feels too much like a machine still and  _when did that become a bad thing he's a machine he's not supposed to feel_ _so why does he want to feel?_     

Connor inhales sharply, edged with static, and presses a finger to his glowing temple. Opening his eyes, his LED flashes bright yellow in the wreathing darkness of wet and shadows. After placing pressure on it, an overwhelmingly  _human_ attempt to calm the internal storm boiling inside his head, he fingers the lit cycling circle. He shuts his eyes and breathes before glancing around, spotting a pair of rusted scissors lying by themselves a few feet off. He scrabbles for them, taking them considerably more gently in his hands. His grip trembles as it looms close to his eye, but he doesn't hesitate much more before teasing it under his LED. The skin peels back from the foreign object encroaching, hissing faintly while he lodges it in the dip and maneuvers the blades up.

It clatters away, flashing red before cycling to dim in a tussock of  _Stellaria media_. Connor curls his lip at it, his hand falling into a fist. The scissors thump to his side, and he takes his eyes off of it and rolls his head away, slumping, threading a hand through his disheveled hair. He doesn't have the energy to fix it, not anymore, and the sinking in his gut returns as everything crashes back on him. 

 

 _Please I want to live_ —   
_I know a place we can be free_ —   
_JERICHO_   
**BANG**

 

Connor wheezes as he succumbs to the memories humming in his skull. 

**Author's Note:**

> pretty much everyone links their tumblrs at the end of a fanfic so im jumping on the bandwagon please talk to me im lonely  
> https://c0n-struct.tumblr.com/  
> tons of dbh memes and random garbage


End file.
